


Seasons of a hellscape

by sunofthemoon



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Normal Life, CEO Lena Luthor, F/F, POV Alternating, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26729908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunofthemoon/pseuds/sunofthemoon
Summary: It starts off as a dare.Kara sends Luthor Corp a painting of the corporation burning down flames. It had seemed like such a good idea then, but decisions laden with alcohol never end well.As the seasons change, the consequences for insulting a Luthor doesn't seem as dire as Kara expected. But when she finds beauty in the woman who confronts her about the art, Kara thinks this might really be her end.OrKara does a dumb thing and Lena falls in love with her because of it. As told through the seasons of the year.Written for Supercorp Big Bang 2020.
Relationships: Alex Danvers/Kelly Olsen, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Comments: 44
Kudos: 290
Collections: Supercorp Big Bang 2020





	1. Spring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [5-5-k (Vsquaredk)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vsquaredk/gifts), [Ookami777](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ookami777/gifts).



> This is my first Supercorp Fic, and I am so excited that I got the opportunity to have a go at writing these two ladies through the Supercorp Big Bang. To the mods, thank you so much for organising this event, and being so kind and considerate. Ya'll are the absolute best!
> 
> A BIG thank you to Vee and Ookami who made _stunning_ pieces of art to go along with this fic. Please check out **5-5-k's** and **Ookami777's** art and leave then all the love! 
> 
> Special mention to my cheerleader, Jorinde (@pinkjover), who pushed me to write through all my doubts and bad time management. And who always had an ear to lend. 
> 
> A few notes:  
> \- I mark spaces between _POV changes_ with ::: and _scene breaks without POV changes_ with ...  
> \- This is set in a universe with no superheroes nor magic nor any fantasical elements besides science.  
> \- This is not beta read. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

The sound of laughter fills the night air. It floats in the humidity of Spring, dances around the two women who are heavy with alcohol. They giggle to each other, their hands pressed over their mouths as they contemplate a bad decision that looks better through a haze induced by cheap wine.

“Do it! Do it! Do it!” Like a chant, the words come with every heartbeat, encouraging Kara to partake in a dare that she knows will leave a bitter aftertaste of regret the next morning. Alex doesn’t care beyond a bit of fun, and it’s so rare to see her sister like this, present and entirely submissive to the moment. A touch of melancholy accompanies her actions as she scrapes her blonde hair into a messy ponytail, pushes her glasses up her nose, and reaches for the tubes of paint she needs.

“Okay, _okay_ ,” she slurs, like she hasn’t already tapped her brush into the colours, seen an image form in her mind and itches to create it.

Alex watches her with awe. Nostalgia heavy in her gaze as she follows each stroke, only occasionally sipping from her wine as she _ohhs_ and _ahhs_ where appropriate. It’s been so long since her sister watched her work, that Kara puts on as much of a show as she can. It feels like old times, back in Midvale with a shared room and their parents listening to records downstairs, the smell of paint and scented candles permeating the air.

Reds, yellows, oranges. They swirl together as the night gives way to a dull morning, almost as if the dark doesn’t want to leave just yet. Wants to see the finished product that it isn’t timely enough to witness. Only when the sun comes out, penetrating through the sleepy fog and lifting the stale air, does Kara pull back from her chair.

Her discarded glass of wine is pushed into her hands. She yawns, exhausted, but finishes off her drink as a half-hearted attempt to stretch their girl’s night out. Evenings like this with Alex are a once-a-month occurrence, and Kara isn’t as jealous after four years of a schedule, of sharing Alex with a sister-in-law and niece. But sometimes, the loneliness creeps in, and she clings to the only person she’s allowed herself to trust in National City.

Slouching against her, Alex’s auburn hair tickles her nose. “I never know how you can do that,” she whispers, still drunk on the night and memories of their childhood. Pointing vaguely at the image as she draws herself into the present, her shoulders shaking with amusement, she says, “Oh, he’s in for a treat!” The sentimentality gone from her voice.

Kara feels humour bubbling up in her chest, the weight of it too much to hold onto. “He’s going to _love_ it.”

And she remembers the dare, remembers the pettiness that had caused this in the first place. Of Luthor Corp and their ongoing trial, of the experiments that went bad and left hundreds of people hurt. One painting won’t make a difference, but she feels lighter for it.

They stare at her art for a moment longer, allowing the weight of their emotions to settle on the vision, and then, they burst into laughter.

Loud and rumbustious, not a care in the word as the Danvers sisters hastily wrap the painting; aided by cheap wine and the simmering rage of the city’s injustices.

“We should send a note,” Alex suggests.

Grinning, like there couldn’t be anything better, Kara pulls out the pencil from behind her ear and tears off a piece of paper from her sketchbook.

_Der Luthor _

_A ~~painat~~ ~~pian~~ art 4 u.  
rot in hell bud dy. _

_frm,  
Danvers._

It’s pushed into a used envelope and taped proudly on the brown paper. When they stumble for money and slap crumpled bills on the courier’s desk, Kara thinks that they’re the bravest people in National City.

:::

Lex stands with her in his old office, his lips screwed up in a scowl. “They think you can do better than me?” he asks in a mutter, his words directed to the walls of his office that Lena has been too scared to touch. “I mean,” he scoffs, finally turning to acknowledge her, “ _you_?”

His posture is defensive, like a caged animal waiting for the opportunity to strike its captor. Her brother may lack many things—hair and a conscience, to name a few—but he knows what to say to hurt her. How to press upon her weak spots, cut her down to size. Lena tries to remain impassive, to let her expression smooth into one of annoyance.

It never worked then, and it doesn’t work now.

She says, “They think I’ll do a better job of keeping the company in a positive light.” Because this much she can do, even if she’s the lesser Luthor, the one with a heart they think they can manipulate. “After your last stint with unauthorised human trials, I think the board and public have lost faith in you.”

He huffs, turning away from her to peer out at the view below them. “They don’t know what’s good for them,” he says. “These people with their small lives, they don’t know anything.”

“And _you_ do?” Lena taunts, defensive and furious for the people of a city she doesn’t know. The board may be removing Lex from his position, but there’s still so much to clean up. He’s left her with a bucket and mop in her hand, placed bets with his friends on whether she’ll achieve anything at all.

It grates on her nerves.

Laughing, like she’s a child playing with things she doesn’t yet understand, Lex looks over his shoulder at her. “You’re smarter than this, Lena,” he drawls, bored with this conversation already. “You know the statistics lie. It’s only a few people making a mockery of themselves and the rest of the sheep jump on the bandwagon.”

She makes to argue, to bring up all the death and destruction his inventions have caused, but a knock on the glass door stops her.

Eve, her brother’s assistant, stands in the doorway. “There is a delivery.”

“Did I not tell you,” Lex grits out, furious and unhinged, “that I wanted time with my little sister? To show her the ropes.”

He sounds so envious, that Lena smiles delicately at Eve, gesturing for her to enter. “No, no,” she insists, bitterness on her tongue. “The last delivery for Lex must be shown with a little fanfare. Let’s see what it is then.”

Lex makes to protest, but the couriers carry in a large rectangle badly wrapped in brown paper, and Lena’s curiosity is piqued just as much as her brother’s. Eve unwraps the gift at Lex’s nod, and a canvas draped in reds, oranges, and yellows bares itself to her. Luthor Corp and its employees all clearly burning in flames. It’s remarkable, how one image can say all the things she never had the courage to tell Lex.

“What is this?” he spits, insulted.

Eve tucks her light hair behind her ears and holds out an envelope that was taped to the wrapping. “It came with this,” she says.

The envelope is snatched out of Eve’s hand and carried to Lex’s desk where he rummages around in one of the drawers. Their father’s pocketknife glints in the light as he tears through the paper, revealing only a torn, paint-stained page.

“You read it,” he tells her, like it’s beneath him.

The page feels grainy in her hand, small bits of dried paint flecking off at her touch. “Dear Luthor,” she reads, and sees her brother stiffen at the obvious disrespect. “A art—” She winces at the spelling errors and the struck-out words, clears her throat as she reads over it to try and make it sound less insolent than it is. “Here is an artwork for you. May you rot in hell…buddy.”

“And who sent me this?” Lex asks in a hiss.

The letter crumples in her hand. Lena swallows thickly and shakes her head. “It isn’t signed,” she lies, and doesn’t know why she protects this Danvers who was audacious enough to send something so horrific.

The painting remains propped up on an armchair the couriers had set it against, an ugly thing in a sterile office that makes Lex’s eye twitch. “Well,” he says, like this might’ve been the final nail in the coffin. “You can enjoy this monstrosity. This is your office now according to the board.”

“I don’t want this in my office,” Lena says sternly.

Lex laughs as he shrugs on his coat. He walks up to her until they’re close enough to whisper abuses and pass it off as a sibling rivalry. “Then you don’t have the guts to run this company.”

He says it kindly, with a smile that’s reserved for those he might like. And Lena tries not to burst into tears at the sight of it, to remain stoic and calm like her last name demands. But her brother has rarely been wrong, and never about her. She clutches the note in her hand and uses it as an anchor.

Lex walks out of his office with flair, like he intended for this to happen despite the board that says otherwise. When she turns back to look for him, he’s gone, leaving her with his old things and a new painting meant to mock her.

:::

Alex comes over just as Kara starts to feel the walls closing in on her. A quick drop in, to say _hello_ and ask if she’s still alive. But Kara knows she looks like a mess, trying to meet a deadline for a commissioned piece on that new video game that had launched last week. What’s worse is that she’s bound to her tablet and stylus, missing the feeling of paint between her fingers.

This is how Alex tugs on her hair, muttering things about how she needs to eat and sleep and do normal human things. Kara had called her a _Mom_ , and she’d earned a slap on the back of her head for it.

“Did you hear?” Alex asks once their teasing has died down into companionable silence, and Kara had stopped moving enough that Alex begins to braid her hair. “Luthor Corp is ushering in new management.”

Kara grunts with disbelief. “They’ve been saying that ever since Lex was implicated for unethical distribution—for what? Two years now?” Stretching her neck, Kara winces when Alex tugs on her hair to keep her still. “Luthor Corp is bad news and everyone knows it,” she continues, jutting her chin out to try and ease her muscles in a way that won’t hurt.

A sigh answers her, and Kara takes that as the defeated agreement it was meant to be. “Maybe this time the rumours might be true. That, or your painting might have convinced them to change tactics.”

She laughs. High pitched and nervous. Like the memory of their shenanigans have only just rushed at her at full force. Adjusting her glasses as she tilts her head back to look at Alex, she asks, “You don’t think they got that painting, do you?”

Alex stares at her for a long time, blinking only twice. “Nah,” she says, just as the fear starts to set into Kara’s bones. “At most, a secretary would have looked at it and had a good laugh.”

Forcing out a chuckle, Kara tries not to imagine people breaking down her door to sue her for defamation of character or whatever CEOs tend to throw at their enemies these days. She’s too young to go out so early, and certainly not by the man she hates more than anyone in the world. “You’re right,” she tells Alex, her voice sounding strained.

Her hair is tied at the end, the wisps pulled into the braid that Alex has been doing for her since they were children. “All done.”

Reaching up to touch, Kara beams when she feels the smooth knots. “The one thing I can count on,” she says, patting her hair.

“The _one_ thing, really?” And Alex doesn’t spare her when she throws a cushion at her sister’s face. They may be pushing thirty, but no one said they couldn’t behave like children.

…

Luthor Corp is handed over to Lena Luthor within a week. Kara sees the headlines plastered across every news outlet, hears press releases and interviews, and the people of National City remain undecided on whether to trust this newcomer.

“She’s still a Luthor,” Kara tells Alex.

A plate is set in front of her with a chocolate surprise muffin. Steam still rises from it, and the texture is soft when she pokes it to check its temperature. Alex shrugs and pulls her own plate closer. “Maybe,” she says with a smidgen of faith. “But she seems nice enough from all the interviews.”

“No one has even _heard_ of her before,” Kara pouts, as if her facial expression should be evidence enough not to trust so easily. “Did you know there were two Luthors? Because I didn’t.” She cuts down the middle of the muffin and shivers when the chocolate oozes out onto the plate. The first bite is heavenly, and she barely supresses a moan from the rich taste. “Did I ever thank you for quitting the force and starting your own café?” she asks, skipping away from the topic of Luthor Corp.

“People _have_ heard of her. You just live under a rock.” The insult cuts through Kara, but she takes another bite of her muffin and it eases into the background. “And yes,” Alex says drily. “You have thanked me, several times. Which is why you need to pay for these.”

Kara gasps and subsequently chokes on a piece of muffin. “ _What_?” she splutters. “The whole point of your sister owning a café is to eat for free.”

Raising her hands in surrender, Alex shrugs. Like she herself didn’t introduce this rule. “The greatest gratitude is payment.” She stands to reach for the paper on the stand behind them. “And here—” The newspaper is tossed in front of her, baring a familiar name with a picture of a dark-haired woman wearing a maroon pantsuit. “That’s Lena Luthor.”

High cheekbones, light eyes, her hair pulled back in a severe ponytail to show off a long neck. Kara gapes at the image and carefully unfolds the paper. “Woah,” she says. Alex raises a knowing eyebrow at her, and Kara quickly skims down to read all about Lena’s charities, her awards, the inventions under her name that have never hurt a fly. “She’s,” Kara clears her throat, “quite known.”

Alex says, “hmm, she’s quite pretty too,” and Kara tries to contain her blush by taking another bite of her muffin.

“Aren’t you married with a child?” she teases.

Mocking her, Alex repeats her question in a high-pitched voice and smacks Kara on the arm. “I meant for _you_. But, since you did bring up my lovely wife, Kelly and I were thinking of going away next weekend. Would be okay to babysit?”

After four years since they adopted Simone, and Alex still asks Kara for favours regarding her niece like there’s a gun to her head. “I got you wine drunk two weekends ago. I owe Kelly this.”

Relief crosses Alex’s features. She makes to say something else, probably something embarrassing—because Kara can feel the heat on her cheeks when she looks at Lena’s picture, can see the angles and curves of her face, how beautiful she’d look in a portrait. But a new set of patrons come in and Alex is nothing but a professional.

She says, “Please eat something more than these muffins.” Like having Kara survive on desserts might be humiliating for her, A café owner with a larger menu than chocolate confectionaries.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kara says, patting Alex’s hand that has settled on her shoulder. She means it to sound disinterested, but the worry in Alex’s face makes her soften. “I’ll eat something,” she promises, holding on too tightly to the newspaper. “And I love you too.”

Alex rolls her eyes, but Kara can see a bit of the sisterly concern ebb away. Snorting, Alex holds up a middle finger as she goes to see to the paying customers.

A club sandwich is ordered when her muffin is finished. Kara takes her time to savour the taste as she reads and re-reads the article calling Lena Luthor a _visionary_. The flowery words make her choke, but the picture leaves her breathless as she pushes away her empty plate and sets a few bills on the table.

“Alright then,” she tells the photograph before it’s folded into the newspaper, tucked under her arm as she readies herself to leave. “Let’s see how well you do.”

:::

Pulled every which way, Lena feels more like a publicity stunt than a CEO by the time the temperature grows hotter each day and the light Spring rain evens out into sporadic bursts of showers.

Two months of this, and she’s only sat behind her desk once. There’s a deal that Lex had negotiated with Lord Industries, something about a teleportation device that he had never completed. She tethers on the edge of a frustrated meltdown when she’s forced to come in and rifle through his untouched drawers. To ruminate in the space of the man who used to run the company, and be assaulted with the evidence of his crimes in the form of a painting she had forgotten about.

Lena stares at the art like looking away might make her miss something vital about it. There’s a sense of calm in the strokes, with its uneven texture and overly blended corners. She has never been an art enthusiast, only learning the basics to impress Mother’s friends at their yearly dinner with men too old to entertain.

But here she is, in her brother’s old office feeling like a small piece of it might belong to her. Snapping herself out of it, Lena pulls down the drawer and kneels before the contents. Files upon files, all stacked together neatly in Lex’s cursive script. Numbered and labelled as if for a game.

“I have no time for this!” she yells.

The door swings open to reveal a concerned Eve. “Do you need anything, Miss Luthor?”

She pauses. Swiping her hair behind her ears, Lena pushes up from the floor. She leans against the desk like she knows what she’s doing, like endless PR appearances haven’t worn her down to the bone. “Yes,” Lena says, because she’s allowed to ask for things. Because Eve is _her_ assistant now, and the fear of Lex keeping tabs on her through Eve is too juvenile for him to attempt. “I want a full interior revamp of this office.”

Eve blinks at her like she’s said something too audacious to process. “We have room in the budget for décor changes in your office, Miss Luthor. But full interior reconstruction…?”

Lena might pride herself on being the embodiment of calm, of knowing which lines to cross and how to keep people happy, but to be undermined is something no Luthor will accept. Her hand glides across the marble desk, catching discarded pens and squashed paper. “Then make room. I want Luthor Corp to have no memory of my brother. You can tell the board this is another PR exercise, some psychological experiment for the employees—whatever it takes.”

Her tone leaves no room for argument, and Eve nods like she senses something dangerous in Lena that’s very well caged. The door closes behind her, shuts Lena into her brother’s space as she grips the ball of paper in her hand and feels grit on her fingers.

The feeling is so familiar, that when she opens it out of curiosity and reads the note that came with the painting of Luthor Corp burning in flames, she doesn’t hide the laughter that spills out of her, doesn’t sensor herself as she lovingly strokes the canvas like it might be an ally.

…

The board approves the interior revamp with the reason of employee wellbeing. Something about making the office approachable for them. About aligning it with the other changes they’ve made to the building since last year when Lena had become a candidate to take over operations.

She avoids the space with the excuse of not getting in the way of the interior designers, taking up room in empty office spots and forcing herself to mingle with people who still distrust her. Slowly but surely, as Spring flirts with Summer and the air fills with humidity outside, Lena begins to earn respect.

They tell her how different she is from Lex. How previous projects now have a moral compass that works on the ethical functions of humanity. Consciences are cleared, the stress from Luthor Corp’s employees seem to dissolve, and when she walks into the building to find a place for herself in an unoccupied room, she’s thrown a smile or two and it makes all this suffering worthwhile.

A month of being a nomad in her own company, and the interior designers sweep their hands toward her office in a show of pride.

Gone are the glass doors. That’s the first thing Lena notices when she steps in front of the space. A large mahogany door is encased in a solid brown wall, and when it swings open, it invites her into a room that’s surprisingly homey. “This is marvellous,” she breathes.

It’s sleek, and shiny. With white marble tiles and clean walls with silver trimmings. They kept the floor to ceiling windows, but the glass slides back to allow her entrance onto the balcony that Lex hated. Plants sit in huge clay pots, a drinks tray between them that makes it seem classier than it looks. And on the opposite wall, a flat screen television displaying the logo of Luthor Corp. In the centre, demanding the attention of anyone who walks in, is a white L-shaped desk that curves at the edges. It looks like something from outer space.

Lena can’t hide her glee.

“One thing,” The designer says, holding up his finger. He’s from out of town, with an obviously fake French accent and an awkward stance about him that says he isn’t comfortable in his three-piece suit. “We have not decided on the artist for your walls, no?”

Her confusion must show on her face, because he gestures at the blank walls she hadn’t noticed with a wilting smile. 

There, propped up in the corner, sits the painting Lex had been gifted. It hasn’t been used in this remodelling, and Lena is sure it’s because the image itself is too disturbing to display. But the technique—it gives her goosebumps when she looks at it, makes her yearn for something she can’t quite name.

The pleasure she feels at seeing that it hasn’t been damaged is discarded, and when Lena looks up with a thin smile, she tries to appear nonchalant. Gesturing at the painting, Lena says, “I want this Danvers to make art for my office—in fact, I’d like a whole set.”

“But Miss Luthor…”

Not missing a beat, Lena raises her eyebrows in challenge. “For cohesiveness,” she adds, cutting Eve off from another argument. “It’s Danvers or nothing.”

And this time no one dares question her.


	2. Summer

Out in the open, the sun burns like a cold flame. In the shade, it's just as easy to freeze. The start of Summer is always like this, where it remains undecided on whether or not it would like to behave.

The mornings are always the most peaceful, where birds chirp and the air is nippy enough to make her feel alive. In Midvale, surrounded by her family, Kara takes each day as it comes. But sometimes, with the clatter of noise, she takes advantage of mornings like this, where she can find space to gather her scattered thoughts and place them in order.

“Coffee?”

Pressing her hand to her chest, Kara jumps in fright. “Jesus!”

Eliza laughs, a twinkle of mirth in her eyes as Kara calms herself down. “I've still got it,” she says to herself, sounding too much like Alex. But Eliza passes over the mug of coffee and doesn't sip from it first like Alex would do. This is the difference between mothers and sisters, Kara thinks.

“What are you doing up so early?”

Shrugging, like all this might have been a coincidence, Eliza sips from her mug and peers out at the sprawling lawn ends with tall, towering trees. “Alex said something about a painting,” she says casually.

Kara chokes on her coffee. She hacks, and coughs, and avoids the topic. Like speaking about it might reveal how she clipped out Lena's picture and carefully laid it with her art supplies, how she debated drawing the sharp edges of a fake smile and the slanted posture of Lena's shoulders.

Clapping her back, Eliza tuts, disappointed. “I raised you girls better than to use your craft for hate.”

“It wasn't for hate!” Kara defends, shifting away from her mother's touch. The movement makes her glasses slip down her nose, and she angrily pushes it back up her face. “We were drunk.” Eliza's frown deepens. “I-I mean it was all _Alex's_ idea!”

“Nuh uh!” she hears. “Was not!”

Gasping, Kara points at Alex like she's a detective in a crime movie revealing the murderer. “Was too! And why are you up so early? You're never up early.”

The slow raise of Alex's eyebrow should be telling enough. “I run a café, it's in my blood to wake up at the crack of dawn.” A blatant lie. She steals Kara's coffee from her hands, and says, “I also heard my name.” And _that_ is the truth, because Alex has an uncanny ability to appear in a room when she's being discussed.

“That's mine!” The liquid sloshes over the brim of the mug as Kara makes to grab for it. But Alex is older, and stronger, and she has some 'special agent training' that means Kara finds her arm twisted behind her back before her fingers even come close to her mug.

“Girls!”

They still at the sound of their mother's voice, and Kara lowers her eyes like a child properly scolded. “She started it,” she whispers, and her arm is twisted just a little harder before it's let go.

Pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, Eliza releases a heavy breath. “Almost thirty and you still behave like ten-year-olds.”

Alex, at least, looks shamefaced. Seeing an opportunity, Kara snatches the mug back from her sister's hand and gulps down the rest of the coffee.

It backfires, because of course it does. And when Kara coughs, the coffee splutters out of her in a stream.

The horrific look Eliza gives her turns sharply to Alex who swallows her laughter. “When you get back to National City, I expect you to apologise to Lena Luthor. She's done nothing to deserve your spite. Do you hear me, Kara?”

“But I wasn't—”

“Kara!”

She huffs and can feel her jaw tense with anger as she nods. Alex may have goaded her into making the painting, but it was her own hand that did it. Yet, she still has the audacity to say, “Not unless Alex apologises too.”

And Eliza, fed up with them already, only points at Alex with a threat when she makes to argue. “Both of you,” she says, and leaves them to it.

:::

A pile of unopened letters greets Kara when she arrives home. A week's worth of unattended cleaning dusts the surface of the floor where she bends to pick up her mail.

The corner of an envelope presses into her finger, and she winces at the ache. A full uninterrupted week of vacation meant that between games and running around the lawn with Simone, she'd also had time to paint and sketch as much as she wanted.

The blisters along her fingers from holding onto a pencil or brush complain, but the landscapes that sit snug in her sketchbook were entirely worth it. Every Summer, Kara awards herself with a hint of paradise where the troubles of the city can't follow her.

Now that she’s back, however, reality beckons.

Dropping her luggage in the lounge, she flips through the letters. _Bills, bills, library, store card, random black envelope, bills—_

She pauses. Picks up the letter she discarded on the table. Matte black stationary with her name embossed in gold lettering, and too fancy looking to pin down its purpose. Throwing the other letters on the counter, Kara tears through the envelope and skims the contents.

The paper feels like water in her hands, too expensive for her to find the right words to use. But the typeset is easy enough to read, simple and plain in its demands even as Kara reads it again, and again, and again.

“A set of paintings?” she breathes out the question. There's a detailed outline of the colour scheme, a list of six scenes requested of her in acrylic paints. That much she can do with her eyes closed, can dot out landscapes and glide out fish, but when she reaches the near end, sees a price range that she's never dreamed of before, that is when Kara begins to doubt herself.

It's feels like a little too much. Alex would say she's devaluing her work, that this price is too little for the masterful works she produces. That you can’t put a price on a piece of her heart that’s etched into every artwork. Tagged at the bottom with a surname given to her by parents who had enough love in their hearts to take in a ten-year-old girl, despite having a child of their own.

Kara swallows and runs her thumb over the amount, thinking about how she could invest the money in Alex's Café, how bills could be paid, and lives lived in a little more peace. Sliding her thumb down to rest against the edge of the letter, the corner pricking at her skin, Kara feels her eyes widen of their own volition.

There, like a curse, embossed in the same gold on the envelope with a signature and logo, Kara reads a name that's all too familiar.

_Lena K. Luthor_ , it reads. Luthor Corp.

:::

Three weeks go by, and Lena doesn't hear anything from the artist. She could track down anyone in National City if she wanted, but she affords Danvers a modicum of respect by only sending through a correspondence to the return address on the note that was attached to the painting.

The painting itself leans against the far wall, in plain sight of her desk. A constant companion to her endless days that seem to stretch for longer now that they're in the midst of Summer.

She can smell something in the air, the scent of possibility that settles like a wave around her. An invitation for something more than the burgeoning business of doing good with technology. Lord industries have finally settled their account with her, and the teleportation device seems to be well on its way into the second stages of testing.

But with everything, Lena still craves that act of adventure. The unknown. Like the reds and yellows that strike across the canvas, the brown that swirls along the bottom into an inky black that feels like it could swallow her whole.

Clicking the intercom, Eve's patient voice sounds from the other end. “Yes, Miss Luthor?”

Hesitating, the question stuck to her palate, Lena closes her eyes and exhales. “Nothing, Eve,” she lies.

“Is this about the painting, Miss Luthor. Shall I find another place to put it?”

It is a question Eve never hesitates to ask. Her assistant always seems to catch her considering the piece, staring at its endless wonder on too many occasions. And why shouldn't she assume that Lena hates it? Any sane person would. But the truth to it is enticing, and her impatience to meet the person who created it grows into something she cannot contain.

“No,” Lena snaps. “It's fine here.”

When she ends the call and doesn’t ask after this Danvers, Lena hears the word _Coward_ whispered to her in her brother's voice.

:::

Alex reads through the letter again. Her eyes dart from one end of the page to the next, disbelief colouring her features with every word she absorbs. She opens her mouth and then closes it. Opens it again, but nothing comes out.

Kara sits in her sister’s house after staring at that letter for almost a week and not knowing what to do about it. Alex hadn’t dropped by for a quick check-in, and Kara’s plan of casually bringing up the letter had fallen into a deep pit of failed ideas.

Kelly breezes past, quietly skimming the letter over Alex’s shoulder with a noncommittal hum. “It’s a generous offer,” Kelly says thoughtfully. Like the amount hasn’t made her raise her eyebrows in shock and stumble over the edge of the carpet.

She reaches out to catch Kelly’s arm, steadying her as Kara laments the position she finds herself in. “I’d be working for the devil,” Kara counters.

Because the doubts creep up into her throat and settle there, wondering if her art will ever measure up to Luthor Corp’s standards. It’s one thing to hate the place and its practices, but it’s another matter entirely to judge it by its tastes. That last one Kara can’t do, even if she loathes to admit that the pictures she saw of the new interior designs had made her drool a little.

If it were any other company, Kara would jump at the opportunity.

Alex lays a hand on her shoulder, the weight of responsibility settling across her arms. “You’re not selling your soul to Luthor Corp if you do this,” she says. “This is good money. And your work is worth this much. Trust me.”

Another arm comes around her waist, pulling her into a hug that she sinks into with a pout. “Think of all the referrals,” Kelly says in a soft voice. “Anyone who is anyone has art on those walls. You’d be noticed—and that’s a good thing, right?”

Rubbing her hands across her face, Kara exhales shakily. “It would be nice to be known by name,” she contemplates. “And I mean…I won’t be known for working with them, right?”

Kelly tilts her head to the side. “There might be some backlash,” she answers honestly, looking over Kara’s head to meet Alex’s eyes.

“But hey,” Alex cuts in, “Luthor Corp has been getting good publicity with Lena in charge.” Kara leans against Kelly to look up at her sister, feeling helpless and lost, unable to fathom what to do with all this supportive energy. Like clockwork, Alex leans down and sets the letter in her lap. “You could also apologise—”

“I’m not taking it.”

“Aw, come on!”

“Honestly,” Kelly pipes up, waving a hand between the Danvers sisters, “an apology won’t kill you.”

Alex and Kara turn to Kelly, identical expressions of shock on their face. “It might!” they both say together.

Kelly glares at them, and Alex visibly shrinks under her gaze. Stabbing the letter with her finger, Alex steps away and smooths her hands down her shirt. “You should take the job,” she tells Kara. “And we’ll both go apologise once you’ve painted whatever they want and Luthor Corp has paid you.” She laughs, a deflating thing that tapers off in the end. “In case, you know, Lena doesn’t know the painting of a burning hell came from us.”

“The Luthor hellscape.”

“What?”

Kara shrugs and stands from the chair, the letter clutched in her hand. “That’s what I named it. The Luthor hellscape.” She shouldn’t feel so smug about it, not with Kelly’s incredulous gaze and Alex’s bark of laughter that falls into a fearful grimace. “I’ve put you in the doghouse, haven’t I?” Kara asks.

Alex’s lips stretch into a thin line. “You’re going to get it,” she mouths, and Kara says her hasty goodbyes as she makes her way out the door.

:::

A blonde woman with glasses, a peppy walk, and unadulterated wonder oozing off of her comes to survey the rooms. Lena watches her carefully, curious and intrigued about the stranger Danvers has sent in their stead.

She had expected the artist to come themselves. Someone rugged and tortured looking, with wisdom that might rival her own. An energy that’s captivating in the sort of way that makes you wonder what the person might’ve seen. But the woman who takes comprehensive notes and listens to everything that’s said to her with intensity is nothing like that.

But nevertheless, Lena finds herself distracted. Her attention skirting to the visitor, calculating and weighing, and wondering too many things. All the sunlight in the room seems to gravitate toward her, a magnetic energy to the way she gestures and points, asks too many questions that take up most of the day.

By the time evening comes and Lena has done nothing but look at her monitor all day, she cannot account for her time spent. If she bothers to think, then this feels a whole lot like staring at the painting, wondering what hidden message lies within.

…

A month comes and goes. There is no sign of the blonde woman or Danvers. Lena feels impossibly betrayed.

Her days are spent overseeing their existing projects and putting the teleportation watches into its final stage of testing. She thinks science is a lot like art. Creating, preserving, destroying. A cycle that comes and goes as naturally as the sun sets and rises.

When Lena finds that her days slip into monotony, and she's greeted with tentative trust instead of dislike, _that_ is when she finds the blonde woman outside her office, dressed in blue overalls splattered with paint. The sight of it makes her frown, makes her try and fit pieces together that slide from her as easily as the glasses down the woman’s nose.

Pushing her glasses back up, the woman clears her throat and raises her hand as if to wave. She thinks better of it at the last moment, and her hand lowers with a blush to rosy cheeks. “Miss Luthor?” she asks.

Lena tilts her head and blinks, tightening her grip on her phone. Maybe she’ll ask after Danvers, invite them to dinner and have a few drinks. Maybe, she'll inquire after their work with the enthusiasm of a woman too lonely.

“Yes,” she answers, picking her lips up into a polite smile. “And you are?”

“My name is Kara,” the woman says, a tremor of nervousness in her voice. There’s something familiar about her. The light hair and eyes, the round face that promises innocence, the stance that hints at slight insecurities. But Lena can’t place her finger on it.

She says, “Kara,” and the name sounds so sweet on her tongue. “What can I do for you?” She learnt a long time ago, to offer first, then blackmail later.

Kara exhales, a sharp little thing that feels too serious. “I just wanted to say…” and she stalls, playing with her fingers like she’s been sent here on a dare. Lena immediately straightens, on guard. “I’m sorry.”

The apology comes so abruptly, that Lena takes a few seconds to process it. “Sorry?”

“Yeah…for the painting?” Squeaked out, Lena can’t, for the life of her, understand any of this. “You know the—” Kara gestures wildly, but none of it makes sense, and Lena finds herself feeling more amused than irritated.

Something must show on her face, hidden in the crease between her brows or the smirk on her lips, but Kara’s blush deepens, and she closes her mouth with a short nod. “My mistake,” she whispers. “Have a good day, Miss Luthor.”

And then she’s gone, walking down the passage, leaving a ghost of something behind. “You too,” Lena breathes, baffled.

…

Six paintings are hung, each with calm hues that match the rooms they are displayed in.

Lena arrives in National City after a week away on business. Visiting Edge industries always takes emotional strength; but going as the CEO of Luthor Corp had required much more than that. When she arrives in her offices in a terrible mood, the art in the foyer makes her pause.

It drains her of all thoughts, leaves her standing there as a hapless spectator as she gazes upon a vision. Something seen in dreams of paradise, with sandy beaches and clear oceans, waves crashing upon the shore with white foam ends. The sight of it after a horrible week makes her want to cry, makes her crave the company of this artist like they might understand her pain.

Throughout the day, she sees the other five. Finds herself surrounded with emotion that only the painting leaning against her office wall could give. Lena finds a piece in the boardroom, the breakroom, her VPs office, outside HR, and hanging behind Eve who welcomes her into her office where the original Danvers laughs at her.

“Eve?” she calls, standing in the middle of her office, feeling unsteady.

“Yes, Miss Luthor?” comes the question, perfectly timed and not without a hint of impatience.

The paperwork from Edge industries are removed from her bag, separated into two piles, and shuffled into folders. When Eve approaches her, Lena has the decency to hold herself together for the sake of her pride, to act unbothered and rational about an artist and a painting that shouldn’t make her feel this much.

She says, “Make copies of this and send one to our lawyers.” Like there isn’t another question stuck to the back of her throat, itching to voice itself.

Eve nods and takes the folders. Pretends she doesn’t see right through Lena. “Anything else?”

Hesitating, Lena attempts to mimic Lex when she walks around her desk and sits down, crosses her legs, and tries to make it look like this means nothing at all. She says, “Invite Danvers to dinner, tonight. I want to thank them _personally_ for all the pieces they’ve made for us.”

Without complaint, Eve jots down the request. “Of course, Miss Luthor,” she says, although there’s a tick at the corner of her mouth that she doesn’t hide fast enough, and Lena burns with humiliation at having amused her assistant.

:::

A letter comes. Black matte stationary, gold lettering, the signature of Lena Luthor. Kara stares at it, wondering if she fooled herself into believing that working for Luthor Corp wouldn’t mean selling her soul.

She had been submerged in her work for a month, churning out the pieces faster than usual, inspired by the architecture of the place. If she had sought out Lena and apologised, stuttered over her words and blushed too hard, then she tells her mother that she did her duty and that’s _that_.

But Lena Luthor up close is different from a picture. And the hard angles of her face look softer, expressive, and delicate. Like the way a brush glides through paint, smoothing out over a canvas that can take any form. Kara rubs her palms together and paces.

She can’t sketch Lena.

She won’t.

She isn’t allowed to.

The letter, however, leaves her wondering. It had summoned her to dinner, said in no uncertain terms that she was expected to attend. And this is how Kara finds herself standing in front of her bed, debating between the only two nice shirts she owns.

Her front door opens and Alex bursts in. Right on time. “Where’s the emergency?” she asks breathlessly, and Kara holds up the shirts in a state of panic. “Seriously?”

“A bad thing happened,” she says in the way of an answer, sounding far too calm. “Remember those pieces I did for Luthor Corp a week ago—?”

“Uh huh.” Alex nods her head too deeply, and Kara thinks her sister already knows where this might be headed.

“I sort of…did them too well?”

“You did— _wait_ , I’m not sure what I should be feeling for you.” Alex waves her hand in confusion. Clearly this isn’t as dire as Kara thinks it is.

Covering her face with her hands, Kara shouts, “She wants to have dinner with me!” like it might be the worst thing in the world.

Silence, that’s all that Alex gives her as she stands there with her arms crossed and her lips pursed to hide her smile. “The blue,” she says softly, uncharacteristically kind. “Always go with the blue. You know this.”

Slowly, with as little enthusiasm as she can muster, Kara shrugs off her black t-shirt and slips on the blue shirt. Buttoned on, tucked inside her dark blue jeans, and secured with a thin silver belt. Kara pulls her hair up in a ponytail, letting the ends curl over her shoulders. She says, “I’ll keep my location on. If anything happens, I need you to come get me.”

Scoffing, Alex bypasses her and reaches into the closet to pull out the only pair of heels she owns. “You’re having dinner with the CEO of one of the leading tech companies in the world. If she doesn’t want you found, I’m sure your phone location isn’t going to work.”

Fear tinges her features as she buckles her heels on and stands for her sister’s inspection. “If you think she’s going to do something, then come with me.”

“Oh, hell no,” Alex protests. She swirls her finger in the air and Kara obediently turns. When she stops, Alex sets her hands atop Kara’s shoulders. “You look great,” she says, patting Kara’s cheek. The action makes her pout, knowing she can’t back out of this dinner when Alex tosses a blazer at her and waves goodbye. “Enjoy your date!” she calls.

“It’s not a date!” Kara yells back, but the door slams closed before Alex can hear her denial.

:::

The hostess leads her to a private table requested specifically for this meeting. And Lena is pleased to find that she’s the first one here. It gives her time to gather herself, to sit daintily in her too tight dress that shows off an ample amount of her chest.

It’s the last day of Summer, and the air turns crisp with the promise of orange leaves that hang on branches like the splotches of paint on the artwork Lena can’t get rid of. Fidgeting, she tries to tamp down on her excitement, to feel the same disgust Lex had felt when his eyes rested upon his gift.

But she finds it absent in the face of her childlike glee.

“Miss Luthor?” a voice asks.

Lena snaps her head up to greet her guest. She feels the air rush out of her lungs, leave her a hollowed mess that brims with disappointment. Standing, Lena struggles to fix a smile in place. Danvers’ assistant, that’s who they sent. No call nor note, no apology for abandoning her.

The word, “Yes?” leaves her lips as a question.

A hand is stuck out, left between them for Lena to shake. “Kara,” she says. “Kara Danvers?”

Another question, like they both don’t know who they are, why they’re here. Tied up in a ball of feelings, Lena doesn’t hide her surprise fast enough. “You’re Danvers?” she asks in a whisper, her fingertips sliding along Kara’s palm until her hand is squeezed in a tight grasp, lingering.

“The one and only.” Kara says, perky and nervous, and too high pitched for someone with nothing to hide.

Her gaze catches a streak of red peeking out from underneath Kara’s crisp blue shirt, one that travels down to neatly manicured nails. And Lena thinks of blue overalls, paint stained hands, an apology that means too much now. Smiling wide, a hint of playfulness in the expression to combat her embarrassment, Lena says, “I am a fan of your work, Miss Danvers.” Her heartbeat pounds in her ears, and there’s a pleasant flush across her chest that betrays her.

Kara has the decency to blush. “I am honoured,” she says, and Lena can see the lies through her teeth. “And it’s Kara, please.”

Lena doesn’t offer the same courtesy of her first name, too nervous to remember her manners. All she does is swallow, the action laced with jittery surprise that follows her to where she pulls out a chair, her free hand gesturing at the empty one in front of her. “Sit, please.”

They smile at each other awkwardly. Lena wracks her brain for something to say, to make this easier on them both. Because she’s the one who insisted on this meeting, and now that she’s finally face to face with the notorious artist, the one who has both the ability to paint a burning hell and serene landscapes, Lena finds herself at a loss.

The waiter breaks their silence by asking them to order. Lena asks for wine, and Kara asks for hors d'oeuvres that are questioned with enthusiasm. Her heartbeat settles as she gingerly brings the wineglass up to her lips, takes a sip of something familiar to ground her. Shyly, her eyes flick to Kara over the rim of her glass. Lena allows herself a moment to marry the image of the idealistic painter and the nervous woman who had apologised to her a week ago. What she had failed to understand then, only makes her chuckle now.

At the sound, Kara looks up. Their gazes catch, sparking something hotter than the Summer can take. She notices the freckles that dot Kara’s nose, the smooth planes of her neck, and the dip of her cleavage that’s covered by her shirt. At that, Lena blinks away, chiding herself for being so obvious with her attraction.

Kara clears her throat. “I was surprised, you know,” she says, and Lena tries not to look relieved when conversation is made. “To get your invitation.”

She laughs, latching onto the weak attempt at a discussion. “I wanted to thank you for your work. They’re beautiful.” Kara ducks her head, innocently accepting the compliment. When no other comment is made, when she’s left trying to salvage this dinner, Lena asks, “Would you paint something else for me?” Because she’s greedy for it, to have every Danvers piece that speaks to her, that will take her on a journey and make her forget the troubles of everyday life.

Kara’s smile stiffens. “I don’t think that’s wise.” The answer feels like cold water splashed on Lena’s face.

“Why not?”

Shrugging, Kara picks at a spring roll. “Personal reasons.”

She curls her fingers under her chin, trying to seem cool and collected despite her hurt. “And what about a gift?” she can’t help but inquire. Because there’s still a piece that’s unaccounted for, one insulting and rude, and entirely too magnificent. With the way Kara’s eyes widen, she almost grasps the meaning before it’s rejected.

“I only gift my pieces to my friends.”

“Am I a friend, then?” Lena probes. “There is a beautiful painting in my office of Luthor Corp burning in the flames of hell, I believe. And it was accompanied by a lovely note, in fact.”

Kara blanches. “You got it?” she asks in a squeak.

At this, Lena smiles. Her brother would have played this out differently. Public humiliation, eternal servitude; whatever met his whimsy. Lena isn’t as cruel. “Of course, I did,” she says, fidgeting with her wineglass. “I found it rather disturbing. Perhaps, it was a call for help? I know an excellent psychiatrist if you need one.”

But she’s still a Luthor after all, and her pain makes itself known with acerbic words.

Insulted, Kara scoffs, her face twisted with all the ugly things she could say. But she’s stronger than Lena, and it’s held back behind her teeth as she smiles. “I only paint what I see,” Kara says calmly. Far too calm. “An artist’s interpretation is the utmost truth. Does the truth disturb you, Lena?”

And the use of her first name makes her inhale sharply, the familiarity between them not yet earned. “Perhaps, you should stick to creating things that people want to see,” she tells Kara with a nonchalant shrug, sounding far more arrogant than she intends to be. “You might earn more that way.”

“Money isn’t everything,” comes the defence. Leaning forward, as if tugged by an invisible thread, Lena bears witness to Kara’s righteous anger. A city dweller forced to endure Lex’s inventions, to see his crimes covered up by his money. She’ll paint Luthor Corp burning, send it as a gift meant to mock. But for it to be held by the other Luthor so dearly, Lena thinks Kara hadn’t thought that one through.

“I think you value money very much, Miss Danvers.” The comment slips past her lips without permission. She hates herself for how cutting it sounds, how the exhaustion of cleaning up Lex’s mess slips into her tone. “The only reason you would waiver your newfound morals to paint Luthor Corp a set of works is for the generous fee.”

She’s waiting for it, waiting for Kara to label her a bitch. It’s what they all do when they can’t win an argument. They’ll call her a Luthor and storm out, tell her she’s a cold fish with too many issues.

Instead, Kara throws up her hands and exclaims, “Of course, I value money!” Lena jumps in her seat at the outburst. “It’s my bread and butter. If I value my pieces on the work I put into it, then what’s the harm in that, Lena? Don’t you price your technology on the supply and demand of it, on the labour and transport? I do the same. I would have thought you to have a _little_ more understanding when it came to that.” She heckles; humiliated and insulted in all the ways Lena hadn’t intended. “Where my paintings sit are my business. I have every right to say no.”

To be so passionate about something, to feel so self-righteous; Kara sits there with anger in her eyes and the world resting on her shoulders. She looks like a person who will fight for what’s right, who will do anything to retain her principles. It leaves Lena reeling, standing on unsteady ground as she stares at her guest with brewing respect.

When Kara’s anger fades, her eyes darkening with disappointment, Lena can only watch as she throws her serviette on the table and stands to leave.

Something in her chest squeezes, and the words spill out. “I haven’t met anyone like you before.” And Kara pauses, too curious for her own good. When their eyes meet again, Lena laughs. She says, “You are knowing of your worth.” Lena raises her glass and takes a sip of her wine. Because Kara will work for the enemy, but she’ll do it for the right price, for the right reasons, and under the right circumstances. This much, Lena can admire.

Pride stands between them as they play out the scene, two different people caught in a ridiculous situation where they try too hard to impress each other. The thought makes Lena smirk, her expression softening to look more welcoming as she nods toward Kara’s vacated chair.

“I’m only staying for the food.”

“Yes, because you ordered everything on the menu.”

A glare is earned, one heated and challenging as Kara takes her seat. An apology sits at the tip of Lena’s tongue, ready to rebuke the way in which she’d chided Kara like an old friend. But a sigh stops her, one so defeated that her lungs quiver as she inhales.

“I can take it back,” Kara offers, “the painting, I mean. If you find it disturbing.” At this, Lena angles her chin up, makes herself look like she’s won. She sits back in her chair, satisfied. “But I would still need payment for that piece regardless.”

It is a victory not long lived.

“Pay you for a painting you can resell? I’d rather suffer at the hands of that splotchy mess than suffer at a _loss_.” They’re back to snipping and snarling as they lean across the restaurant table with utter disregard for personal space. With lies between them as Lena insults the art she values more than her own life.

Kara has the audacity to laugh. “Oh! Then it’s a shame,” she breathes. “You bought a new dress just to come and see me. Now that’s a loss if I ever saw one.” And yes, it might be new, but that doesn’t mean to say she sent Eve out this afternoon to find something form fitting and drool-worthy to meet the artist she’s so fond of.

She did. But Kara most certainly doesn’t need to know that.

“Well I suppose you would need the money. After all, you’ve had a manicure not to look like a finger-painting—”

“Ah ha!” Lena jerks back at the outburst. Kara’s lips stretch into a grin that’s just as disturbing as her painting. “So, you _did_ want to impress me.” She presses her hand to her chest, her voice dropping into something low, something teasing. “I’m flattered,” she says smugly, and Lena swallows thickly at the sound.

She had been so invested in proving Kara wrong, that an appropriate denial to make Kara seem less than important slips her mind. She fumbles for an excuse, something valid enough to cover her obvious attraction. “I—”

“My niece,” Kara supplies, saving Lena from stuttering out something embarrassing. “She had a makeover party, and insisted she do my nails. I’d say she’s rather good at it if you thought I had a manicure just to see you.” Kara presses her lips together to hold back a smile. “She’s seven by the way.”

As if such knowledge should be significant, as if Lena hasn’t already pictured this woman playing with a child and holding perfectly still as her nails are painted. Lena licks her lips as she discards the image, shelves it under ‘want-but-cannot-have’.

“My personal assistant said the painting was a gift. Gifts don’t usually require payment.” She pushes them into safer topics, one where they can’t say confusing things and leave the other gasping for air. But Kara simply leans back into her chair as if she’s won already, and Lena realises then that she’s met her match.

“You’re right. Although,” she says through giggle, her hand outstretched in apology, “the painting of your company burning wasn’t a very good gift.”

Lena breathes out a sigh of relief, tamps down on the laughter that sits in her chest. “At last, something we can agree on!”

“When should I come by and pick it up then? I’ll get it out of your hair for you. Maybe, I’ll find another buyer.” Kara is smiling at her again, like she’s caught onto a secret and holding it tightly to her vest. And Lena must crave the company if she sits up straighter to let her eyes rove over Kara’s face. Her lips twitch with pleasure, a small thing that makes Lena bold.

“If you take that painting away, which is _mine_ , then I would require a replacement.” There’s a challenge somewhere between her words, and Kara leans forward in her seat with amusement written plainly across her features.

Kara’s eyes slip down to her lips, pausing there for only a moment before it drags up to meet Lena’s gaze again. She says in a rasp, “I’ll give you something worthy of a gift,” and steals Lena’s breath away as she stands up to leave. “I’ll be by bright and early tomorrow morning to collect my work.”

And then she winks.

Lena chokes on her wine.

When Lena goes to have the last word, Kara is already gone like a shadow in the night. Leaving her there with impatience and anticipation settling in her lower abdomen, a rush of excitement for tomorrow morning that she hasn’t felt in a very long time.


	3. Autumn

The change in weather had been happening so gradually, that when Kara sits down to have her morning cereal, she doesn’t register the cold draft until it’s too late.

Her phone rings, and she answers it on instinct.

“Hey!” Alex and Kelly greet her. They sound excited, like two parents who want to know all the details of their kid’s date.

Kara drops her head in her hands and lets out a deep groan. “That good, huh?” Alex teases.

“Oh my God,” Kara whines against the phone pressed against her ear. She repents for last night, for seeing Lena in a tight dress with ample cleavage, for allowing her fingers to splay across paper and outline the memory before she had stopped herself. It sits half-finished, thrown on the coffee table where Kara refuses to look.

“Rough night?” Kelly asks. Although, the hint of humour in her voice is unmistakable.

“I made a fool of myself,” she confesses. “It was awkward at first, but she’s just so— _Arg_!” Kara exhales heavily, combing through the emotions that sit in her chest. “We got into a fight. And then Lena tells me she got that painting, which is—”

“ _Wait_ ,” Alex drawls, “the one we made months ago?”

Another groan. Kara picks her head up and stares out of the window like a sad girl in a music video. “Yes,” she says, sounding overcome. “ _That_ one.”

Kelly whistles low. “Tell me you at least apologised.”

“I did—well, not exactly.” The whisper is pathetic, a barely there thing that ends in a whimper. “I promised her another gift.”

“Oh,” Alex says. “That was nice of you.”

She pauses, waiting two beats. “A special kind of gift.”

“Oh. _Oh_!” Sounding far too excited, Kelly claps her hands and laughs so loud, that Kara pulls her phone away from her ear and winces.

“Kara has a girlfriend!” she hears in a singsong voice and cuts the call on her teasing sister and laughing sister-in-law.

:::

The office is empty when Lena arrives. She’s there too early and can’t blame anyone for her nervousness when she settles behind her desk. Kara had given her a vague timeframe, and a part of her knows the woman will arrive at the oddest hour just to prove a point.

It’s exhilarating. And therefore, she remains patient, watching the clock as people slowly begin to filter into the office.

Eve pops her head in sometime after eight, a newspaper and coffee in her hand that she hasn’t yet placed on Lena’s desk. “Miss Luthor,” she says, hiding her surprise well. “I didn’t see you come in.”

Lena clears her throat awkwardly. “I came by early. Is that coffee?”

The question of why is discarded as Eve hands over the items, and Lena takes a satisfied sip of her latte. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” Eve asks. Her eyes shift to the painting still leaning against the wall, watching them both with its troubling image.

Following her line of sight, Lena blinks at the art. She should be more insulted to see the corporation depicted in a way her brother used to run things, but she finds the painting laughable now. Everything has changed, and she isn’t going to let an artist—however attractive Kara may be—halt the progress this company has made in only a short time. “No thank you, Eve,” she says softly, and watches her assistant leave.

The minutes crawl by, and Lena throws herself into her work once the office warms up to its usual routine. Occasionally, she finds herself staring at the painting, finding a new stroke or colour that she didn’t notice before. It’s kept her company for six months, kept her grounded from the moment she stepped up as CEO. By the time there’s a knock on the door, the thought of parting with the unwanted gift feels like pain.

“Miss Luthor,” Eve says from the door. “Miss Danvers is here to see you.”

Lena nods, and Eve disappears to let Kara in. The anticipation from earlier bubbles up again, makes her palms sweat and shoulders tense as she forces herself to remain seated.

Kara bounds in with all the energy in the world, a genuine smile fixed on her face. “Morning,” she greets with a nervous laugh, “fancy seeing you here.”

It’s childish and unprofessional to be so familiar, but Lena feels herself smiling back with the sort of fondness that she’s never experienced before. “Well, you did invite yourself to my office.”

Pausing, Kara looks up to the ceiling as she squints her eyes in thought. “Oh right,” she says, dragging out the words. When she looks down at Lena again, there’s a smugness to her that confuses Lena and her libido. A part of her hates it, and yet the other wants nothing more than to see what Kara wears beneath those blue overalls.

“Go on then,” Lena teases, “do what you came for.”

It shouldn’t introduce a charged moment, but Kara takes the opportunity to look at Lena like she might the reason that’s she even here. She doesn’t smile anymore, but her eyes are still alight with amusement.

A helpless spectator, Lena can only watch as Kara breaks eye-contact to bend down and unfold a roll of bubble wrap. She works silently, an efficiency to her that makes Lena cross her legs under the desk and remind herself to _breathe_. The painting is covered in thin paper, hiding the enchanting image behind a scale of grey. She’s disappointed to see it go, and Kara must sense something amiss because she looks up and holds Lena’s gaze for longer than necessary. There are no words exchanged between them as the canvas is wrapped and taped up, ready to leave Lena to her blank walls once more.

They take a minute as Kara clears up her things, then stands with her hands on her hips and that smile back on her face. “Have you eaten yet?” she asks.

Lena frowns at the question, but surprises herself when she doesn’t lie with the simple, “No.”

Taking that as an invitation, Kara unzips her overalls and steps out of the garment as Lena tries not to have a heart attack. Underneath is a floral printed blouse and maroon pants that are folded up at the ankle. It’s feminine, and carefree, and flowing. The shock of it makes Lena blink as she tries to match the image of Kara in jeans and a button-up to the one she sees now.

“Wow,” she breathes softly, the sound escaping her without permission.

Kara smiles at her. “Thought I’d impress you properly this time,” she says, and doesn’t leave Lena’s slip-up alone. But the awkward laugh that accompanies Kara’s words put her at ease faster than she’d like.

Lena stands from her desk, ready to see Kara out. But Kara gapes at her, her scorching gaze taking Lena in from head to toe and then back down again. She swallows thickly, as if pushing down a few inappropriate things she might say. Jeans apparently, seems to be Kara’s weakness.

“You look,” Kara chokes on the words, “great. Very casual.” Draping her overalls over the armchair, the painting now forgotten, Kara gestures to the door awkwardly. “Want to have some lunch with me?” she asks nervously.

Looking down at her watch, Lena purses her lips. “A bit early for that. But I can do coffee and a pastry?” So casually, so easily her time is given. And there’s that excitement that burns in her abdomen, crawls all the way up to her neck and settles there.

At her response, Kara smiles wide, her hand over her heart where she leans back dramatically. “A woman after my own heart.”

It bursts out of her, a light, carefree thing that the employees of Luthor Corp have never heard. Laughter for an artist with very bad jokes.

:::

Kara doesn’t know what she’s doing. Before, when Lex had been CEO, she had sworn to hate Luthor Corp and everyone in it. But When Lena looks at her and laughs, she finds herself catapulted into a whole new host of emotions that has nothing to do with corporate politics.

“I didn’t think you’d agree to this,” she says. Because they’re walking out in the street, to a destination that Lena hasn’t been to before, and she’s a CEO with unlimited resources, following a barely known artist to a nearby café.

Lena shrugs, like this isn’t as big as it seems. “You were honest with me,” she says. “I value that.”

“As much as my paintings?” Kara asks, pushing open the door to the café and gesturing for Lena to enter.

A giggle enters the space before they do, and Kara things it’s the most beautiful sound she’s ever heard. Lena throws her head back like she’s caught onto a joke, like the dust that lined the canvas isn’t a testament to how long the painting has sat there, leaning against an empty wall. “You’re funny, you know that?” Lena teases, and the topic is brushed under the carpet.

When the laughter fades into a smile, Lena casts her gaze around the café. Kara tries not to squirm, not to let the judgement of a big shot ruin the safety this place represents. _Simone’s_ had been established two years ago, a few months after Alex had been injured in the line of duty and Kelly had expressed her concerns. They had their daughter to think about, a family to secure.

Leaving Lena to it, Kara skips over rustic tables and chairs, avoids knocking into the bookshelves and makes it to the counter unscathed. “Alex,” she hisses. “ _Alex_!”

It isn’t a surprise for Kara to drop in, but Alex frowns, nonetheless. “You’re not getting free food,” she says quickly.

“As I said, what the point of having—you know what,” she tells herself, slapping the counter, “it doesn’t matter.”

“Okay, now I’m worried.”

Swallowing, Kara gestures over her shoulder where Lena picks up a random book and thumbs through it. “I brought her here, and I don’t know what came over me. But whenever I’m around her I can’t _think_.”

Alex does a poor job of keeping her hilarity to herself. “When Kelly said you had it bad, I didn’t think it was this serious.”

“Come on, Alex. _Please_. Please, be on your best behaviour.” She flutters her eyelashes and pouts. “For me. Your only sister.”

That earns her a swat to the arm, but Alex nods and Kara beams at her. “Now relax,” she says through a forced smile, “She’s coming over, and this is good for business.”

“Hello,” Lena says, her voice professional and crisp.

Kara waves a hand at Alex who still has that stupid smile on her face. “Lena, this is my sister Alex. She owns this café. And I eat here for free because she’s a good sister.”

“You do not,” Alex scoffs, forgetting herself. _Welp_ , Kara thought that would work. “Ah, it’s nice to finally meet you Miss Luthor.”

Laughter, again. Lena does it with such ease outside Luthor Corp that Kara makes a mental note to try and get her to come out as much as possible. Provided they’re friends. Which Kara isn’t too sure about, yet. “It’s just Lena. You have a lovely place here. I like how accessible you’ve made the reading material.”

The awe in Lena’s tone isn’t disguised, and there’s something curious about the way she glances at the place, like she’d enjoy spending time here.

“Thank you,” Alex says politely, but Kara clears her throat and her sister goes into work mode. “Is there anything I can get you in the meantime?” Two menus are handed over, and Alex ushers them into the most secluded booth they have.

“Espresso, black,” Lena rattles off, but swallows thickly when she sees the pastries in the display cabinet.

“A filter coffee for me and two puff pastries.” Kara adds in a, “Please,” and Lena chuckles at the Danvers sister’s antics.

“Coming right up.” Alex steps behind Lena to gesture wildly at her. To turn around and rub her hands up and down her back in an imitation of smooching someone. Kara is sure she’s red in the face from her sister’s teasing, and she almost makes her fool of herself by throwing something at Alex, but that’s when Kelly walks in and looks at her wife like she has two heads.

Lena says, “You have a really great relationship with your sister.” And Kara tries not to die from embarrassment when Kelly pulls Alex away by her ear.

“I’m lucky,” she agrees, thankful that Lena has her back to all these antics. “Were you close…to your brother?” What was once a smile turns into a thin line. Lena’s expression is closed off and cold, and Kara realises that she’s overstepped. “I didn’t mean to pry,” she apologises.

The expresso and filter coffee are set in front of them by one of the waitresses. Lena smiles at her politely and pulls the cup closer to herself. “It’s okay,” Lena says softly, but makes no move to open up further.

Well, then. “Right! I promised you another gift.” Eyeing her sceptically, Lena curls her fingers under her chin, her eyes following Kara’s movements as she pulls out a notepad and pencil from one of the shelves. “Tell me,” Kara begins, slipping into professional mode. “Do you have anything specific you’d like for me to create?”

Lena shakes her head. “You’re the artist,” she says, shrugging like she doesn’t care about the outcome of this. “You decide.”

She taps her pencil on the notepad, unwilling to paint something Lena might not like. “Any colour preferences?” Kara tries again.

“I like dark colours,” Lena confesses. Kara feels her eyebrows raise, slowly inching up her forehead as she jots down notes. “Landscapes are also acceptable. I find red to be intriguing. Faces are nice, but I suppose any art with meaning is beautiful.”

Her voice sounds faraway as Kara starts to sketch, one idea after the other. Lena’s tone is wistful, like a dream within a dream that has yet to be dreamt. Kara takes it all in, feels her skin burn with the need to create. “That’s good, that’s… really good.” She avoids Lena’s eyes and finds that she can’t be bothered by smouldering gazes and promises of flirtation.

Two puff pastries are set in front of them, and Kara ignores it as her fingers stain with lead. Grey ash dusted along pages that are ripped out and placed on the table, set in front of the woman who has reawakened her muse.

:::

A week later and the atrocious painting still sits in her office. Lena finds that she hasn’t got the heart to place it elsewhere. Her eyes stray to the piece when she’s working, her mind supplying her with the harsh strokes of red, yellow, and orange. Every time she glances at the wrapped rectangle, she thinks of Kara.

Kara who has been coy and challenging, an acquaintance who might’ve made a good friend. But after their meeting at _Simone’s_ , Lena had seen something in the artist that she feels privileged to have witnessed. The passion, pure and revenant, had spread through Kara’s veins, and before Lena, she had transformed into something beautiful. Into the artist that Lena has admired since the wrapping had been torn from that first painting.

It had taken two expressos and both those puff pastries for Lena to stop staring, for her to pay the bill and leave with a parting glance. She loathes to admit it was filled with longing, that she wonders what it would feel like to be loved that fiercely, to be the muse of someone so talented.

A knock on her office door, and Lena discards the thought. “Miss Luthor,” Eve calls.

“What is it?” she asks, trying to look busy even if Eve has caught her staring at the overalls that still hang over the armchair.

“You have visitors,” she responds timidly. The sound of a child’s giggle makes her wince.

“Do they have an appointment?” Because it’s customary to ask, because it’s making her throat itch and old memories resurface.

“It’s Miss Danvers,” Eve answers. Lena’s spine immediately straightens.

Nodding for Eve to let Kara in, Lena removes her blazer and drapes it over the back of her chair, the sleeveless black blouse is tight enough to accentuate her curves, to have Kara stop and stare in a way that will leave them both breathless. She waits, one hand resting on her hip and the other placed lightly on the edge of her desk. “Kara,” she greets, red lips curling in on the name.

“Hi!” and that—oh that makes Lena falter in ways that means she’s clearly out of her depth. “I’m Simone, nice to finally meet you!” Lena hears the girl’s voice in too many exclamation marks and wills her fingers not to press against her temple. She’s not ready for this, not ready for a child with curly brown hair and dark eyes to stare up at her as if she’s more than a Luthor.

“I’m so sorry, Lena,” Kara huffs, a canvas larger than the painting of hell lugging behind her. “It’s just that I’ve got to drop Simone off at school and you’re on the way over—”

“It’s fine,” she snips, her voice steely and her posture straightening. The thought of someone so impressionable in her presence, someone who can look at her and see only goodness…Lena swallows thickly and tries not to move. She focuses instead on Kara and how she places the larger canvas gently beside the other one, replacing one gift with another so easily.

When she’s done, and Lena provides her with only a small, petrified smile, Kara gestures at Simone. “This is my niece, Simone” she says. “And Simone, this is Lena.”

“We’ve met, Aunt Kara,” she says in a scolding manner. Lena can’t help but bite down on a smile. “I like what you’re doing with Luthor Corp,” Simone comments, like she reads the news and follows the ins and outs of corporate policy. “My moms said so.”

“Ah,” Lena says before she can stop herself. “Is Alex your mother?”

“Yep.”

“And the café is named after you?”

“Yep.”

Lena places her hands on her knees and bends down to Simone’s eye level. “The puff pastry is delicious,” she whispers, like Kara isn’t a part of this conversation and her smile isn’t something Lena finds herself wanting to see more often.

“Aunt Kara is our taster, but I help too.” She looks down at her shoes that scuff against the tile, suddenly shy.

Rounding her desk to reach her drawer, Lena grunts as she retrieves a candy bar she stashes there. “Here,” she says, “for helping your aunt carry that canvas all the way up here.”

Simone laughs as Kara guffaws. “Can I share it with Aunt Kara?” she asks tentatively.

Lena can’t help that she clutches onto Simone’s hand, feels more important than she has in a long time. It’s funny how the innocence of a child can put things in perspective, that there aren’t any games to play nor prizes to be won. “I’ll get your aunt her own candy bar,” she promises, and feels her heart grow twice its size when Kara beams at her.

“Can you wait in lobby, Sim?”

“If you want to talk alone, just tell me.” Simone’s attention is already on the candy bar, the foil pulled back to reveal dark chocolate that’s halfway to her mouth.

Kara grabs her overalls that have made a home on the back of the armchair and tosses it at Simone who blinks up in surprise. “Please,” she begs, “child of Alex Danvers, behave.”

Simone sticks her tongue out at her, but unlike Alex, there isn’t any pushback as she finds Eve in the lobby and offers to share her candy bar.

They stand facing each other, smiling shyly like this is the first time they’re meeting and have nothing to say. “Your niece is adorable,” Lena husks. It sounds lower than she intends it to, rough and on edge where she wants for too many things.

Kara shrugs, a proud smirk fixed on her lips. “I brought you your gift. Do you want to open it now?”

There’s an excitement to Kara that tells her she won’t survive this. Instead, Lena touches Kara’s arm, feels the warmth of her skin as she reaches up to press a tender kiss to her cheek. “Thank you, Kara,” she breathes, and feels Kara shiver against her.

When she steps back, her fingers sliding from Kara’s arm, Lena wonders when she came to care about the artist who insulted her company. When did Kara earn her respect and admiration? Her trust?

No more words are said, but Lena does root around in her drawer to produce another candy bar. Their fingers linger over each other as she passes it over, but that smirk never leaves Kara’s lips. Like she’s won something.

:::

She’s alone when her phone rings. Some sitcom is playing in the background and her hands are stained with blue. She accepts the call with her knuckle and puts it on speaker. “Hello.”

“It’s beautiful,” comes the answer. No greeting, no pleasantries, only truth. Kara pauses her work and turns toward the phone as if Lena herself were sitting there.

She asks, “Is it?” and doesn’t hide how she fishes for information.

Soft laughter filters through, sounding too free. Kara strains her ears, tries to hear what might’ve relaxed Lena so. Without sitting face to face, without having to imagine what Lena would sound like, or behave, Kara can form the image in her mind, can see how Lena would smile softly and shift, like she’s embarrassed to be caught out caring about something.

“You know it is,” Lena whispers.

Kara tilts her head from side to side, the light reflecting off her glasses. She goes back to her work, to the shades of blue and the abstract image that she had started but couldn’t finish. “Tell me about it.”

There’s a soft click, like Lena might’ve made the sound with her tongue. Kara hears shuffling, the rustle of fabric as Lena moves. “It’s red,” she observes, and any other time, when the night doesn’t feel so heavy with change and the scent of spice doesn’t hang in the air, Kara would have cracked a joke. But she listens, allows the sound of Lena’s breathing to wash over her.

“There are red trees, but it’s underneath an ocean. Like it survives, doesn’t need to stay afloat to prevent itself from drowning.” A dream, deep and true, the purest of things.

She closes her eyes, pictures Lena with the phone pressed to her ear, curled up in a blanket with her hair up in a bun. It’s late in the evening, when the world winds down, and Kara knows from the lack of an echo that Lena can’t have possibly opened the painting in her office.

“What else?”

“Between the trees.” A pause, heavy. Stifling, like a revelation. “There are shadows of two women embracing.” It sounds like a sob, but nothing more than a tender whimper makes its way through the phone.

To want like this, not for friendship or love, but for companionship—Kara thinks this is the most dangerous thing she’s yearned for. They’re so different, yet there’s something that Kara can’t escape from. Can’t help but let her fingers move across the canvas, the image taking shape like it has for a while now, of no one else but Lena Luthor.

“It doesn’t mean anything.” And she lies. Like poison from her lips, it tumbles between them.

A sigh. “It never means anything,” Lena agrees. There’s a swallow, like liquid sloshing in a bottle. “But it’s brilliant, nonetheless.”

The weight of something presses on her, something that isn’t pushed aside at her sister’s teasing, or her mother’s requests to be good. Kara feels it in her bones, in the creak of her joints and she slides off the stool and examines her work. “I call it Shadows under water.”

“Hm.” Lena seems to contemplate it, but Kara can’t be too sure when all she hears is silence on the other end. “What did you call the other gift?”

She barks out a laugh. “It wasn’t your gift,” she confesses, like a sinner with too few crimes. “I painted The Luthor hellscape one night as a dare. Alex and I might have been drunk?”

“Were you angry?”

The questions keep coming, and Kara finds that she must sit down again, lean against something for support. “I was. I was just as angry as everyone else. But you’ve been doing such a great job so far—”

Lena snorts. “Don’t lie to me, now.”

A sigh leaves her lips, and her blue stained hands curl under her chin as she closes her eyes. “I would never lie to you—not for something like this. Whether I ate the last puff pastry, however…”

Making Lena laugh feels like an accomplishment. Kara feels herself smile at the sound, like she’s no longer a stranger who painted a few pieces, that she’s a somebody to a woman who knows everybody important.

The line goes still after that, quiet and calm as they keep each other company. Kara listens to Lena drink something and swallow. Three minutes between each sip, a soft sigh afterward, and the tightness of silence.

When the seconds tick by, when the blue on her hands start to flake off her skin, falling to the floor as a reminder of winter that’s at their doorstep, that is when Lena speaks again.

“Do you like me?” The fragility of the question is not lost on Kara, but the way Lena’s words slur, how the question is posed with desperation, it makes Kara tread carefully.

She says, “I do like you,” and finds that she means it. That in the brisk autumn evening, she can’t run from the way Lena’s lashes flutter when she’s upset, the way her lips stretch over her teeth when she laughs, how her ear flattens slightly at the top, the wisps of hair that fall from her ponytail after a long day.

Art. That’s who Lena is, and Kara submits to it as Lena says, “I like you too,” before the line goes dead.


	4. Winter

Cool mornings and chilly afternoons give way to raging storms and blistering winds. Lena hasn’t been able to face Kara since that phone call a week ago.

She had taken the painting home, treasured it like a _real_ gift. And when she was met with the image of sinewy trees with roots that touched the surface of water, living and breathing beneath its mountainous burden, she had gasped. Between everything, from existence to death, Lena had seen the shadows. Two women, held in an embrace, a vision so easily passed over by someone who wasn’t looking.

But she looks now, feels an ache in her chest that won’t go away no matter how much she rubs it.

The Luthor hellscape had been one thing, but it was filled with silent rage, a message for her to do better than her brother. And she’s managed that in the past nine months, has birthed a whole new company from the ruins of what it had been. But is it enough—for her, for the woman who unwrapped a painting and felt something wholesome?

The cold cloaks her as she walks, numbs her to the thoughts of how Kara had so easily said ‘ _I do like you’_. Meaningless. Something uttered to a lonely woman desperate for a connection.

She scoffs as she enters _Simone’s_. The café isn’t hers to navigate through, to claim as her safe haven and remain undecided on whether she wants to see Kara here or not. But the warmth from the space makes her sigh, strips the cold from her skin as she tries not to think about why this place brings her comfort.

A waiter guides her to a nearby table, awe in his eyes when he can’t stop staring at her. Lena smiles genially at him, trying to angle herself away from someone who might want too much from her. “I just want to say, that you’re a true inspiration.” He breathes his gratitude, starstruck and giddy. And Lena realises that this is what fame feels like. An intrusive preview of her life to come.

She stammers out a reply, heady with nerves. “T-thank you.”

He lingers in her space, rocking on the balls of his feet like he’s forgotten how they work.

“Hey,” she hears. Breathless and just as overwhelmed. The voice of a hero.

Lena turns sharply to find Kara standing behind her with a tentative smile on her face. Her eyes slip to the waiter, and then back to Lena with a silent claim. “Hi,” Lena breathes, unable to hide the way her lips pick up in a grateful smile.

“You staying?” Kara asks. There’s a measured question beneath the surface, asking why Lena has been distant, why she’s standing in Alex’s café like she hadn’t intended on bumping into Kara at all.

“Uh.” She darts her gaze to the waiter who clears his throat, looking embarrassed. “Yes. Yes, I’m staying.” Lena offers him a brief smile, unsure whether he’ll still show her to the empty table.

“Care to join me?”

Wrapped in a woollen sweater, skin-tight jeans tucked into ankle boots, and a mess of mused curls that looks like it wasn’t brushed down after removing a hat—this is the image that Lena takes in. Allows herself to pretend for a moment that she can have this, that it would be so easy to just reach out and take it. “Of course,” she sighs, forgetting empty tables as she submits to her desires just this once. Kara beams at her, and Lena thinks she’ll do anything if Kara keeps looking at her like that.

They order an English breakfast each, and Lena addresses their waiter by his name, smiles like the polite Luthor she is. Kara raises an eyebrow at her, but she shrugs it off until their coffees arrive, piping hot and steaming in the cold weather.

“So,” Kara broaches, “how have you been?”

“I’ve been fine. And you?”

“Good.” Kara smacks her lips together. And it feels like the first time they met, where they knew neither each other nor themselves.

Lena huffs, a laugh curling around her tongue. “I see,” she says. Because Kara’s fingers grip her mug too tightly, and there’s tension in her jaw when she tries to smile. “Are we ignoring it, then? ”

“I haven’t been ignoring anything.” The response comes so quickly, that Lena takes a second to process it. To hear the hurt in Kara’s voice, the aching feeling of rejection that must come with late night conversations that are brushed under the carpet like it never existed at all.

_This is your fault_ , she thinks. Lex’s voice, again.

She clenches her eyes shut and exhales through her teeth, the action so easily mistaken for laughter. Kara is a stranger enough to be honest with. Where it won’t hurt, not unless Lena wants it to.

Leaning back into her seat, she runs her fingers through her hair and smiles. “Your paintings,” she starts, ignorantly wistful, “made me feel wonderful things. I haven’t felt so understood in a long, long time. I don’t want my love for your art to be muddled with…”

“Me?”

Lena tilts her head down in a half-hearted nod.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends,” Kara argues, like a person the sun in the room gravitates toward. Someone who captures the attentions of those willing to look, to see fire and passion in her art. All the hidden things that sit behind too many layers.

She wants and yearns, and longs for the art. For its meanings and beauty. For its artist. “Is that all you want?” Lena asks. An audacious thing, too rude to be voiced in a public space over breakfast and coffee. Too obvious not to ask when their time ticks away with each passing second, wasted on arguments and half-truths only told with strokes of a brush.

Kara captures her gaze, holds it there for an achingly long time. The intensity in her eyes makes Lena suck in a lungful of air, hold it in her throat where her tendons stress with anguish for every moment that Kara could reject her.

“No.” The word slices through them. It’s awarded with Lena’s shaky exhale, with her trembling fingers that press against the table so close Kara’s own.

Inching closer, over the forks and spoons, Kara’s blue stained fingertips brush over hers. Lena hasn’t been touched this intimately before, where something so simple could mean so much. She turns her palm up, lets her hand slide under Kara’s as they clutch onto each other as the world spins around them.

“We can start small,” Kara whispers.

“Small?”

Scrunching her nose, the action so adorable, Kara shrugs. “I don’t want you to be confused between me and my art.”

“Oh,” Lena breathes, flexing her fingers in Kara’s hold. “What do you propose?”

Kara smiles and tilts her head to the side. “I’m here,” she says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “And all you have to do is be here too.”

Emotion sits in her chest, strangles her as she casts her gaze down and tries not to lose all sense of herself. She may be a Luthor, but it’s long been established that she isn’t the heartless one. “Okay,” Lena agrees, grinning at Kara who beams right back. “I’m here.”

:::

Promises had been made, that much Kara is sure of. But how much of them will be kept remains something that no one is sure of.

Thanksgiving comes and goes, with family around Alex’s dining room table. There’s turkey and dessert, and boardgames that Simone is old enough to play.

She texts Lena once, wishing her a Happy Thanksgiving, and she receives a response only too late into the night when everyone is stuffed and sleepy-eyed. The question of whether she should have invited Lena becomes one that bangs in her chest with every heartbeat.

“What is it?” Kelly asks when they’re alone in the kitchen and packing away leftovers for tomorrow.

Kara shrugs, unwilling to out herself when she knows Alex will find out and tease her about it later. The stiffness in her shoulders must give away, because Kelly bumps into her like she knows a lie about it being _nothing_ will come sooner or later.

“Lena,” Kara whispers.

Kelly’s eyebrows raise to her hairline. “I see.”

“I don’t know if we’re dating or not. And I mean…we admitted we liked each other.” She scrunches her nose and tilts her head to the side. “I think.”

Containers closed and left aside, Kelly sighs as she rearranges things in the fridge to make more space. “You Danvers sisters are so alike,” she says. Kara passes her two containers to stack away, but Kelly pouts at her with disapproval. “Why don’t you just ask her? Maybe she's just as scared as you are.”

“I am not scared.” The denial doesn’t hit as strongly as Kara would like, especially with Kelly who knows her entirely too well.

Laughing at her, Kelly closes the fridge and stands with her hand on her hip. “Sure, you are.”

“Shut up.”

…

Luthor Corp looks different in the late afternoon. Shadows dance over the walls, the hallways are empty save for a few people leaving the building, and the feeling of contentedness settles over the vast expanse of space as she makes her way up to Lena’s office.

Eve’s desk is empty, but Kara knows her name has been pencilled in for this late meeting. A favour from Eve who told her in plain terms that Miss Luthor works late, and sometimes sleeps on her office couch, and will therefore be available if she were to pop in. And so, here Kara is, with a handful of flowers and a question that makes her undeniably nervous.

Pushing open the door, the action slow and tentative, Kara peers into the office to find Lena at her desk with her head down over paperwork.

“Hi,” she says. Lena startles at the intrusion. Kara holds up her free hand and winces.

Once she’s found her bearings, Lena shakes her head. “Should I call security?” she asks. Her fingers curl under her chin, her eyes following Kara who walks into the office with care. The image of her like this, with her straight-backed posture and that lazy knowing in her gaze makes Kara want to snap a picture, take it home and frame it. Art, pure art.

“Maybe?” Kara taunts, her voice slipping into something just as dark as the sky outside. “I did steal these for you from my apartment garden.”

Lena chuckles, the tension from her shoulders dropping. Kara watches as Lena stands from her desk to approach her, her slim fingers sliding over her own to grasp the bundle of daisies and bring it up to her nose. Inhaling, Lena’s eyes flutter closed. “My flower thief,” she says, almost affectionately.

Kara hacks out a laugh, too loud and sharp. Stepping back, her fingers slipping from Lena’s, Kara tucks her hands in her pockets and swallows. “I uh, wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh?” Lena asks, hopeful.

The question dies somewhere in her throat, and all that comes out is a puff of air. She smiles at Lena who tilts her head curiously, those flowers still in her hand. “I just…I—wanted to see if you’re doing anything for the holidays?”

It’s pathetic how she covers up her question with another, but Lena seems none the wiser. Her eyes squint as she smirks at Kara, like all of this is amusing to her.

“Why?” Lena asks, “do _you_ have plans?” _For us_ , goes unsaid, but Kara can taste the expectation in the air. _I’m here_ , she had told Lena, and that’s got to be enough for now.

Kara shifts, stepping closer to Lena who goes to shut down her laptop. Plunged into the orange glow of a winter sunset, Lena packs away her things like someone who has never slept on the office couch. “I would like it if you could join me for a Christmas Eve dinner,” Kara finally says. Something festive, but not too intrusive.

“I think that’s a day better spent with family.” Hoisted up on her shoulder, Lena exits her office with Kara hot on her tail.

She says, “Oh. I didn’t realise you might have plans on that day.”

The elevator dings, and they both step inside as Lena presses the button for the ground floor. “I don’t. But I thought you might.”

The numbers on the elevator go down, and the faint smell of lavender lingers in the air. When Kara turns her head to the side, she gets the sharp scent of musk from Lena, and realises it’s not from her. “You smell nice,” she says without thought.

Lena looks at her with such heady lust that Kara thinks she might get kissed in the elevator like in the movies. The doors open just when Kara thinks she can’t take anymore, and Lena steps out smoothly, completely unaffected.

“Christmas day.” She jogs to catch up to Lena. “We have family dinner on Christmas day at the café. You’re welcome to come along if you’d like.” Lena’s face twists with discomfort. “Simone will be there,” she adds. And Lena laughs at that, like she might consider it after all.

Her bag is placed in the boot, set there gently among a gym bag and umbrella. Lena says nothing until she’s done, and when she turns toward Kara with one hand on her hip and the other holding up the boot, Kara swallows thickly at the vision. “Family on Christmas day, and on Christmas Eve...?”

She licks her lips, knowing that even without spelling it out, it will all be obvious. Kara says, “Just us,” in a tiny, hopeful whisper. “You and I, having dinner. Together.”

Lena glances down where she’s laid the flowers against her bag. Reaching for it, she closes the boot and approaches the driver’s side. “Christmas Eve,” she says in agreement, and winks at Kara who guffaws.

Walking backwards as Lena reverses her car, Kara places a hand over her heart and feels it pounding against her palm. “I’ll see you then!”

She sees a tiny wave out the open window, Lena’s bracelet catching in the lights of the parking lot. Kara cranes her neck, watching as Lena drives off. She lingers just a little longer, in the presence of Lena’s perfume until it disappears.

:::

In the weeks that follow, Lena gets so caught up in work that when Christmas Eve rolls around she doesn’t notice at first. It’s only when Eve knocks on her door, and says, “Happy Holidays, Miss Luthor,” does time become a tangible concept again.

This is how she remembers the text Kara sent her a few days ago with an address. Time escapes her as she dashes out of the office, only giving her a few minutes to shower and throw on the first outfit she can find. In a moment of panic, she tells her driver to stop at a flower stand and buys a single red rose. It feels small in her hand, but its meaning is decidedly clear.

She knocks twice before the door opens to reveal Kara in formal pants and a button-up shirt. Her hair is curled and left loose, a touch of makeup to accentuate her full lips and almond eyes. “I didn’t think this was a date,” is the first thing Lena says. It’s a tease, meant to taunt Kara into giving up on keeping this pretence of wanting too little.

Kara only chuckles nervously however, her gaze taking in Lena’s beige cashmere sweater and dark jeans that’s folded over brown ankle boots. She’s only a smidgen taller than Kara with the heel on her boots, but when she looks down, there’s impressive looking stilettos on Kara’s feet. She gulps at the sight of it.

“It’s not,” Kara hurriedly denies. But a twitch of her lip betrays her to the lie. “Would you, uh, wait here just a moment?” Lena nods, and Kara wastes no time in disappearing into the space. The sound of sharp, heavy exhales accompanied by dimmed lighting makes Lena lean to the side. She sees Kara hold her hair away from her face as she bends down to blow out a smattering of candles spread across the apartment.

She can’t help but push the door open wider, to step into the space and lean against the wall. “This is quite…something.” Kara snaps her head up from the blown-out candle, her eyes wide with embarrassment.

“This isn’t—” Kara waves her hand around the apartment, her denial cutting off mid-excuse as Lena steps into her space. She’s flustered and adorable like this, and Lena can’t help that she reaches out to touch. Her fingertips skim down Kara’s cheek, feeling the softness of her skin, the way Kara leans into the touch like she’s been starved of it.

They haven’t done more than hold hands in the café, promise each other things they’re both too scared to keep, and between the two of them, Kara has been the bravest. She can do this much, where Lena cups Kara’s cheek and pats it gently, presses a kiss to the warm spot. “I’d like it to be,” she confesses.

Kara’s smile starts off slow. “Really?” she asks.

“Really,” Lena confirms, and presses the single red rose in her hand. When the awestruck look in Kara’s eyes doesn’t fade, Lena steps away to relight the candles that have been victims of their insecurities. Kara’s hair glows golden in the light, and Lena knows now why people will paint portraits and lament over beauty stolen by another man.

“This is beautiful,” Kara whispers, her lips against the rose. “You look beautiful.”

Words like that have never come easy to Lena, and she struggles to reciprocate, to move past her blush and the way Kara’s sincerity travels down her spine, making her feel warm. “Do you have any wine?” she asks instead.

A laugh meets her as Kara nods. “I’ll get you some.”

:::

The night goes by quickly, with soft, idle conversation and shy glances that say more than their words ever could. Lena glows under the praise Kara gives her, rosy with the effect of expensive wine that Kara had splurged on for this occasion.

They laugh, and tease, and talk about everything and nothing.

Kara’s favourite part is when Lena slides her hand over the table and grips her wrist. Holds it so tightly as she throws her head back and laughs, that Kara feels like she’s in a dream. Damned to live this moment only in her memories, to want and ache for Lena’s smile the way lovers do.

“Would you like more?” she asks.

Lena holds out her hand and shakes her head. “I’m stuffed,” she says, clutching her stomach through her laughter.

Their plates are empty, a silent compliment to Kara’s cooking. She hasn’t done this much, but she had called Eliza in a mild panic and only managed to calm down once her mother walked her through every step of making a simple macaroni and cheese casserole. Lena hadn’t leered at the simple dish, however, and a part of Kara adores her even more because of it.

“My mother always said it’s better to have more food than too little.” She stands from the table with their plates, and Lena follows her with the few remaining dishes into the kitchen. “It was good thinking too. I had no idea people with little stomachs could eat mountains.”

“I did _not_ eat a mountain,” Lena denies. Kara gives her a look, and Lena bursts into laughter at it. “It was tasty, alright?” she whispers, rose dusting her cheeks. The sight makes butterflies erupt in Kara’s stomach, fluttering wildly as she turns on the tap to wash their plates.

“Thank you,” Kara says, elbow deep in soap water. “I doubted my cooking for a moment.”

Lena takes a dishtowel in her hands and begins wiping the wet dishes with such ease, that Kara yearns just a little for Lena like this every day. In her apartment, doing chores with her, talking to her. Flirting. Lena says, “Your cooking is delicious. And you’re very well trained.”

“Well trained?”

The last of the dishes is washed and Kara wipes down the sink until it’s dry. “You cleaned during a date.” Whoops.

“Uh…was that rude? I didn’t mean for it to—”

“You’re comfortable with me,” Lena breathes. And Kara finds her suddenly very close, close enough that she can see the want in her eyes. Can feel Lena’s breath on her cheek and smell her musk perfume hot against her skin. “I like that. I like _you_.”

“Oh.”

All her normal bodily functions fail her. Kara can feel her legs trembling, can hear the rush of blood in her ears. Lena leans in closer, almost as if to kiss. Their lips barely brush, a tantalising tease that leaves her breathless and aroused when Lena moves away.

She asks, “Will you show me your paintings?”

Kara, already short-circuiting and able to taste the bitterness of wine on her lips, points vaguely to her studio. Maybe, she’s drunk. That’s what Kara thinks when she dumbly follows behind Lena who peeks her head into every room until she finds what she’s looking for.

“Lena,” she calls, brave enough now to ask for that kiss. Her fingers slip over Lena’s wrist to tug her close, but Lena remains stiff against her.

The question is asked in a shocked murmur. “What is this?”

Even if shrouded in darkness with only the glow from the candles in the main room, Kara can make out all her works of art. Her lips part with surprise, with how foolish she had been to allow Lena inside this room when it holds too many secrets. “I didn’t—I don’t—”

Shrugging out of her grasp, Lena fumbles for the light switch. In the harsh glare, there is nothing to hide. Tentatively reaching out, like it might physically hurt her to touch, Lena brushes her fingers over digital prints, charcoal sketches, and oil on canvas.

Kara flinches with each piece Lena comes across, where her own face stares back at her. Lena Luthor illuminated with light from behind her as she sits at her desk. Sunlight catching her hair as she sits at the café with her fingers curled under her chin. Smiling wide with a glint in her eyes from the dim lighting in the parking lot as she holds open her boot. And in the corner, a half-done piece of their first meeting, with Lena’s low-cut dress and a smirk on her face.

“Why?” Lena asks. Her voice punches through the silence.

She must look like an obsessed stalker, someone who can’t separate fantasy from reality, but Kara can’t explain how beautiful she finds Lena. How easy it had been to draw the line of her jaw, the crinkle of her eyes, and the slender curve of her neck. “I’m sorry,” she rasps. Ashamed.

“You should be,” she whispers, and Kara winces, ready to be cast out of Lena’s life forever. But she turns back to the art, looks at them with tenderness. “You always paint me alone.”

And Lena says it with such anguish, that Kara stops thinking for a moment. Her mind settles, remembering all the times Lena has praised her art, had claimed to love it so deeply that she held onto an ugly thing just because it spoke the truth. She wonders what Lena thinks of these, what she gathers from Kara’s restless hand and her heart that’s stuck on one woman.

Her hand slides down Lena’s back, pressing firmly against her shoulder when the touch isn’t shrugged off. “But that's just it,” she says softly. “You’re not alone.” Lena scoffs, but Kara touches her chin, pulls her attention away from the art until she can see Lena’s intense gaze. “You have me.”

Quiet, so quiet, like voicing it louder might shatter something between them. Lena asks, “Do I?” And Kara exhales with a choking laugh.

She strokes her fingers across Lena’s cheek, tenderly tucks a piece of hair behind her ears. “I’m here,” she breathes, putting everything on the line. “I see _you_ , Lena Luthor.”

Lena exhales shakily, a hint of a smile on her face. Kara stills as Lena brushes her fingertips across her lips, traces the pattern with her thumb. “You didn’t ask permission to draw me.”

“I’m sorry—I won’t—”

“You will pay for them.”

Kara swallows thickly. She can’t afford Lena, can’t measure her worth in money or things. She says, “I have nothing you want.” Because this much Kara knows. There are no ancestral vases or gold necklaces in her name, nothing that could rid Lena of the humiliation of being an unwilling muse.

Warmth. That’s what Kara feels when Lena presses against her, when her arm slides over Kara’s shirt and her fingers press delicately down on her hip. “You have everything I want.”

“Everything?”

Lena smiles, a short, reassuring thing. It disappears, makes room for Lena’s hooded gaze and lust blown eyes, her shallow breaths that match Kara’s own. The faint thump of her heart that’s pressed against Kara’s chest. “You…” Lena husks against her lips, “I want you.”

In all her works of art, Kara has never seen Lena like this. Open and wanting, seduction in her posture as she leaves herself bare. She takes a moment to drag her gaze over Lena’s face, to feel the brush of her nose and insistent tease of her lips. And when Kara trembles, when her hands slide into Lena’s hair and feels it’s silky texture, she surrenders to this game they’ve been playing.

Her lips press against Lena’s, taking and _taking_ anything she’ll give. It’s hot and desperate, the type of kiss that builds over seasons, finds a home in canvases and the steady stroke of a brush. Kara moans against Lena’s mouth, feels a tongue swipe against her lower lip, and pushes for more.

Hands slide down her back, coasting over her shirt that feels too warm. Kara doesn’t care to breathe, doesn’t bother beyond Lena’s whimpers and the feel of her body against her own.

When Lena turns away, laughing low as Kara kisses her jaw in a desperate attempt to pull her back, that’s when she knows she’s a goner. “How many of these have you made?” Lena asks breathlessly.

“Sixty-eight,” comes the quick reply.

“Hm,” Lena says against her temple, gasping when Kara sucks against her pulse point. “Only sixty-seven more kisses to go.” Pausing, Kara picks her head up and gapes. “I know my worth too,” she rasps, “I asked for something priceless.”

Mused hair, kiss swollen lips, and a twinkle in her eye that screams triumph, Kara groans as she steps back to look. “I won’t draw you anymore without your permission.”

Tilting her head to the side, Lena raises her eyebrows, no doubt seeing right through Kara. She touches her, drags her fingers down Kara’s chest and rests her palms against Kara’s abdomen. “I’m here too,” she says, “all you have to do is ask.”

“Later,” Kara promises, already leaning in for another kiss. “After your payment.”

Kara tastes laughter and wine; feels the curve of Lena’s smile as they kiss softly, an unhurried act that makes her sigh in delight. 

And _this_ is what the art of love must feel like, Kara thinks. To be in Lena's arms, to touch the muse with gentless. To feel the sharpness of her jaw, and the smoothness of her throat. To imagine how glorious an image of her would look, imprinted in Kara's mind as Lena strips away layer after layer, promising so many things.

A hellscape. A heaven. Where the two meet in the middle, drawing patterns along her skin. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat to me on Twitter [@_sunofthemoon](http://www.twitter.com/_sunofthemoon)
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic and would like to support my writing, you can read how to [here](https://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?story_fbid=2250548541927530&id=100009172184250)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Seasons of a Hellscape ( art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26739043) by [Ookami777](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ookami777/pseuds/Ookami777)
  * [Meetings Gone Awry (Art for Seasons of a Hellscape)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26691658) by [5-5-k (Vsquaredk)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vsquaredk/pseuds/5-5-k)




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